Disclosure

The day done, long and blustery as a winter strand,

now the snug sofa held you,

knees drawn-up in fetal repose.

The womb-room settled into silence

while coffee-cupped hands gestured a sort of prayer-

and then you began to disclose:

like a tidal surge stirring-up

submerged and restless obsession -

how she grew cold and sullen, pre-occupied

and quick to snap at mis-judged faults;

how soaring bills frequented the letterbox

day after day demanding payment, explanations,

which prompted spits of bitter accusations;

how something indefinable and un-owned

howled for recognition, definition -

but festered undisclosed in vice-like denial;

how torment took you off to lonely spaces,

contending with the rampant wind's turmoil

while the worm of doubt grew in your gut.

Until one opportune day of reckoning,

saw you riffling through cluttered handbag,

fast-forwarding her mobile phone texts -

innocuous missives from friends, daughters,

to hit upon the sudden stinging sense at last -

“My Darling” this, “My Darling” that…

then how you heaved with storms and sighs

to grasp the hateful truth of her disguise.